CHAPTER 11

Heart to Heart

You open the door to the deck and peek your head out, then step out. You're going through some clouds, and the light from the full moon casts eerie shadows on the curling tendrils of vapor.

There's a lone deck chair strewn across the wood floor, and you can only guess that fear kept them from being up here very often, if at all. It's the opposite with you. Weeks of being stuck under the Earth have you desperate for open spaces.

You cross to the upturned chair and right it absentmindedly, fingers tracing the twisted metal and charred cushion.

Festus snorts tiredly from the front of the ship, and even that small unexpected noise has you jumping back in terror. You get your breathing back under control and approach the safety guard rail and the hard storage seating that rings the bronze.

Your fingers trace the ballistae, which have undoubtedly been steaming fire recently, and you look over the side, into nothingness. For a split second, a very scary second, you wonder what it would be like to fall like that, into the sky, down, down, down.

Then you swallow that thought with a shudder. Annabeth needs you here, alive.

You slump to the ground and tuck your knees up to your chest, relishing in the soft night breeze that brushes through your tangled hair, yet another physical reminder of those terrible days and nights.

It's quiet up here, but not eerily quiet, dangerously quiet, like Tartarus was, when the only sounds were the occasional faint scream of pain and the nonstop plinkplinkplink of water dripping from the ceiling. It's peaceful quiet here, lonesome quiet, a quiet that lends itself to reflections and ideas.

Your mind strays to the scene in the living room, and your gut coils. Things are definitely bad, really bad, much worse than you originally thought. You hadn't really been thinking about Camp Half-Blood.

You'd been much more preoccupied with getting out of Tartarus, and your fellow quest member, and more recently Annabeth's memory and if she'll ever be able to love you again. You'd thought that if there was a war, Camp Half-Blood could handle itself. You'd thought that there would finally be peace.

You've surmised that Clarisse must have taken over the role of unofficial leader and general, which is both a good and a bad thing.

Clarisse is the kind of person you want on your side in battle. She's incredibly loyal, and fights to the death. It takes a long time for her to accept you, but when she does you have her for life.

She's also very headstrong and impulsive, and does things without thinking, hence Octavian. She's not the best diplomat, and prefers to fight it out, which is not the best thing for making peace.

You remember the burden of your friends lives on your shoulders all too well. It's not a place you ever want to be again.

You sigh and dig the heels of your hands into your eyes. Stars burst and pop in the darkness behind your eyelids.

You need to get back to camp fast. Even though Reyna didn't want the war, and didn't like Octavian, the fact that Clarisse killed him insults her Roman pride, and her natural instinct is to strike. She's also incited the legion, and they will attack with the rage of losing their second in command. If Camp Half-Blood is already doing poorly, then that could be disastrous.

You close your eyes and rest your cheekbone against your knees, breathing in a steady rhythm to combat the icy fear that encircles your heart.

A shadow falls over your hunched body and the boards of the ship squeak under demigod feet. You startle up, wide eyes peering at the mop of oily brown hair, Hispanic features, and small build. Leo.

You croak, "Hey."

He takes that as an invitation to sit down next to you and imitate your position. He stares at you with dark liquid eyes.

You stare back.

His face lights up into a crinkly-eyed smile, exposing sparkling teeth. He pats your shoulder gently. "Hey yourself. I haven't seen you in a long time."

The muscles in your face strain to attempt some semblance of a smile in return. "It's nice out here at night, isn't it?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say. "It's beautiful."

He tilts his head up and inhales deeply. "It smells good," he says.

"The air is fresh," you say.

This is the weirdest conversation you've had in a long time, but it's oddly refreshing.

"Yeah," he agrees. "None of the others like to come up here any more," he says. "After what happened, I mean. So I get to spend a lot of time by myself, driving the ship. Coach helps sometimes, but, you know Coach. He's more likely to see a pigeon and start screaming, 'DIE' than he is to actually help anything."

He turns to look you in the eyes, piercing you with a searching look. "What's going on in here?" he asks, tapping gently at your temple with a tanned fingertip. You fight the urge to recoil from his touch. You turn to look out at the swirls of fog.

The funny thing is, you have the urge to tell him everything. Leo doesn't judge, never has. And you find yourself lulled into a fake sort of fantasy where you can tell people besides Annabeth things and they won't betray you.

You settle for cold facts, and you tell him everything.

He's silent. "We have to get back fast, then," he says finally. "We have to make the peace. We're the only ones who can."

"Yeah, I guess," you say. You sigh. "I just-I don't know. We've been through so much, you know? I just wanted to be free of all things demigod for a bit, just to get my head screwed on the right way again."

He turns his head, stares out at the night, and doesn't answer you.

You swallow down the lump in your throat at how much he's changed. How much these last few weeks have changed him. The awkward, bouncing, seriously ADHD kid he used to be traded in for a raw, battle scarred man.

Something pokes itself to the forefront of your mind. Leo said, 'after what happened.' What happened?

You ask quietly.

Leo blows out a soft breath. His hand shakes as he goes to pat his tool belt, as if reassuring himself that it's still there.

He blinks fast, then says softly, "We were all so scared, you know. After you and Annabeth fell. We didn't know what to do. Nico was the one who brought us back together. I got the ship back together, and we took off for the Doors of Death."

He stops for a second, then continues. "In order to get to the Doors, you have to face your demons. I guess whoever built them really didn't want anyone getting to them."

He forces a dry laugh. "The stuff that was there was just so horrible. Every time I close my eyes I see them. It's a miracle we could all still fight at the end." His voice is shaking. "Nico didn't make it through."

You process this. "So, no one wants to be up here because…"

"Because it reminds them," says Leo. "Of stuff that they really really want to forget."

"But I don't understand," you say. "What about the open air makes you afraid of it?"

He shudders violently. "The whole thing was, you had to walk across about a mile of emptiness, just like the ground. We all thought that it was the easiest thing to do, until we started. Every step you took, all your nightmare came true, until they were all swirling round you, and whispering horrible things about you, confirming all your insecurities."

He takes a shuddery breath. "They know that there's nothing going to hurt them up here. It's just the memories."

You nod. "Now I understand."

"'S the same for you, innit? That's why you came up here. Because of the memories." He looks up at you, eyes full of hurt.

"Yeah, I guess," you say. "Except for me, they're backward to yours. Every time I'm in a closed space, I remember."

"Does it ever stop?" he asks. "Can you ever forget?"

"I think," you say carefully, "That it doesn't ever go away completely. It just fades a little over time, and you learn to live with it. Doesn't make it any less painful though." You sit there in silence for a while, watching the smoke drift in lazy circles. Your eyelids slowly grow heavier and heavier, until eventually you find a restless sleep.

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